Contains junk from my college days to applying the Dilbert principle at work to theater to nostalgia to Jim Morrison to Schumi to friends to getting old and none the wiser, and more recently, Indian socio-political commentary: or, just blah blah and more blah

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

W.B.Yeats - 'An Irish Airman Foresees His Death'

I know that I shall meet my fateSomewhere among the clouds above;Those that I fight I do not hate,Those that I guard I do not love;My country is Kiltartan Cross,My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,No likely end could bring them lossOr leave them happier than before.Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,A lonely impulse of delightDrove to this tumult in the clouds;I balanced all, brought all to mind,The years to come seemed waste of breath,A waste of breath the years behindIn balance with this life, this death.